


Out of Everyone I Know

by ithinkyourewonderful



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, idek what this is but here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithinkyourewonderful/pseuds/ithinkyourewonderful
Summary: “I hate you the least out of everyone I know,”
Relationships: Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 19
Kudos: 50





	Out of Everyone I Know

**Author's Note:**

> It’s widely considered poor manners to pour your own sake. I’ve heard everything from it being bad luck, it being disrespectful, it not being communal etc… But the tl;dr is etiquette says if drinking with others, you pour for them, and they in turn pour for you.
> 
> There’s a ‘dead hooker’ line, which I feel is an abhorrent line, but this show is full of abhorrent lines/acts and it didn’t work any other way I tried. I’m sorry.

  


* * *

  
This is not the first time they’ve had this argument.

Perhaps argument is too strong a word. Discussion. This is not the first time they’ve had this _discussion_ , it crops up every so often. Roman asks her to marry him, and then she brushes it off. Or laughs it off. Or ignores it. Or distracts him with a few well-chosen words until he’s whimpering and worn himself down.

This time feels different, however. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s caught her after a long day, near the end of a long week? Maybe it’s because it’s getting darker earlier and earlier? Maybe it’s because he was already home, and had dinner ordered for them by the time she made it in? Maybe it’s because it’s the dawning of the house of Aquarius or some shit? She doesn’t know, she just knows it doesn’t feel like it did before.

He waits until they’re seated across from each other at the island in the kitchen before bringing it up casually, both of them half occupied by their phones, and half occupied by their sushi from Masa which definitely doesn’t do delivery unless you’re in the 1% of the 1% (a perk of their involvement). She takes a sip of her sake and has her chopsticks poised to steal a piece of sashimi from his plate when he grins at her with that little boy grin of his and begins: “This is nice, right?”  
“Yes Roman.” She puts down her chopsticks, her ill-gotten sashimi and waits, knowing this is a set up.  
“Look at us, having dinner like a couple of normos or something.”

She waits.

“Like, why don’t we do this more?”  
“Eat?”  
“Fuck Gerri, no, like, together.”

She picks up her chopsticks and resumes her meal now that she knows where this is going. Always thirteen steps ahead.

“We could, like, I don’t fucking know, fuck off and get married, and then we’d be legally fucking required to do this shit, right?”  
“Or we could not, and keep doing this?” She drains the last of her sake and nudges the bottle towards him to top her up.  
“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” He asks, his leg starting to bounce as he pours her more. “Think about it - you, me, two point five kids, a dog and a picket fence. What every red blooded American woman wants, right?”  
“I already have two point five kids,” She looks at him pointedly before returning to her phone, “And the picket fence out in Hudson Valley.”  
“But you don’t have a dog.” He counters, “So let’s get married and get a dog.”  
“No.”  
“Why?”  
“I have you.” She looks across at him stone faced.  
“Ok, but why? Let’s talk about this, why _won’t_ you marry me?” He sees her mouth open, ready to lob another joke in his direction so he cuts her off, “And like, no pacifying fucking jokes. We said we’d always be fucking straight with each other, so…?”  
“Oh.” She pauses for a moment, withdraws from the moment to compose herself, to figure out her exit strategy, to choose her words wisely. “I need something stronger.” She mutters to herself as she rises. She hates that she treats this like she would treat any confrontation at work, but after God knows how many years at Waystar, it’s how she’s wired now and it’s too late now to change, even if she wanted. 

Which she doesn’t. She’s rather happy with how things are. 

“Why is this so important to you Roman?” She asks, pouring a hefty measure of whiskey in a glass, thankful to have space between them. It’s almost harder to have him around when he’s like this, still and a little scared. Oh, he’ll never admit it, but she can see it in his eyes, she can smell the fear on him. “Why don’t you answer the fucking question, Gerri?”  
“You pay me to _ask_ questions if you remember? Not to answer them.” She tips her glass in his direction before rolling it in her hands. She likes the smoothness of it. The way the liquid floats around. “I’m tired of being ambushed about this Roman -”  
“Maybe if I knew why you say no every time, I wouldn’t fucking ambush you, but like, no, everything stays locked in that sexy, stupid, super brain and you make a fucking joke, and I’m stuck here with my fucking dick in my hand every Goddamned time, so yeah.”  
“You like standing with your dick in your hand. It’s your favourite pastime.”  
“Ok yeah, so maybe that’s a shitty analogy or some fuck, but you know what I mean."  
“You want me to be honest with you, you little shit?”  
“It’d be nice, yeah.”  
“Fine, you’re a fucking child, and you don’t understand the consequences of this entanglement and _that’s_ why I won’t marry you.” She watches as her words land as she intended for them to. “You get to fuck off when this is all over, and you find some other mommy surrogate toy to obsess over -”  
“There’s like seventeen offensive things you just fucking said. When this is all _over_? The fuck is that about?”  
“Should I talk slower?” She asks, “Did you want to rub one out while I explain this to you? Whatever will help you comprehend these words, because I don’t want to talk about this again.”  
“Pretty sure I’m not the one who’s gonna have a senior moment and forget. Carry on. Finish whatever you were saying.” He waves his hand in his general direction before turning to grab his sake. Which, fuck, has finished. Rather than risk _more_ incredibly shitty luck, he takes the bottle from the table and begins to sip the remains. “Oh, for fuck’s sake Roman,” She mutters, crossing back over to him and pouring the remnants out in a cup for him. He catches her wrist in her hand for a moment, forcing her to look at him, looking at her. She hates when he does that, looks at her like that. Like she’s literally the Alpha and the Omega to him. Like she contains the secrets of his fucking heart in her fucking soul. Like he fucking _loves_ her, because she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt, the Roys are incapable of what the rest of the world would call love. 

Except for _Roman_ … She sighs. Running a hand through his hair, pushing it back. Hating how much she loves to watch him when she does that, eyes half closed, smiling up at her. Sometimes she suspects that if that was the extent of their physical relationship, he’d be just as happy. Sometimes he wants nothing more than to just touch her - a hooked ankle in bed, a brushed shoulder on the elevator, a hand in his hair during a fight.

“General council was making her totally lame argument?” He says, grinning up towards her, watching her bestow a smile of her own towards him as she pushes his head back and steps away, “Insolent little shit,” She supposes she owes it to him to finish this. He’s right, as much as it kills her to admit it, she really has side-stepped and evaded his proposals every time. No time like the present, she supposes, as she leans back against her very expensive fridge, which holds only vodka, ice, water, and a week’s worth of takeout leftovers her cleaning service tosses out once a week. And milk, she remembers. Milk for Roman’s fucking cereal like he’s a seven year old. “Roman, you and I are at two different junctures in our life-”  
“Meaning I’m basically a fucking stud and you’re gonna kick the bucket any day now?”  
“For the purposes of this conversation, sure.” She concedes so she can proceed. “Whatever you and I have works for us-” She shoots him a look, knowing he’d try to hijack that line, “ _Here_. Alone. When it’s just the two of us. Out there, that’s a different story.”  
“Fuck it though. If it works for us, it works for us,” He toes the kitchen tile with his socked foot.  
“It only works for us _here _, Rome.”  
“Because you won’t let us leave these four fucking walls, _Ger_.”  
“If it no longer suits you, you’re always welcome to leave.” She raises a brow, hating herself only a little that she knows how to twist him so easily. That she can and will do it without remorse, like everyone else in his life.  
“Fuck you,” He mutters, standing up, and starting to clear the table from their leftovers.  
“Leave it, Roman.” He ignores her as he piles up the plastic containers, scraping the fish off, gathers the glasses. “Roman, let the service do it tomorrow.”  
“It’ll fucking smell the place up. And yeah, I wouldn’t have cared about that a few years ago, but here the fuck we are. Fucking growth, eh?” He finishes clearing up.  
“That’s what I’m talking about, Roman. You’re at a point where you’re still growing, and I’m… _grown_. I’m happy with where things are in my life. I’ve worked fucking hard to get here for longer than you’ve been alive. I know who I am.”  
“And who the fuck are you then?”  
“I’m the molewoman, Rome. Or the filing cabinet. Not a child who’s going to run off and implode her life for a man-”  
“-Implode? Fucking rude.”  
“Even if that man is you, Roman. One day, you’re going to grow again, and wander off and clean sushi off some other woman’s counter, and I’ll be left with whatever’s left of my forty year career in fucking shambles because of your dick. I’ll be the punchline to a joke, and you’ll escape unscathed. There - are you happy now?”__

__He doesn’t look at her, can’t look at her, so he begins to wash the sake glasses, meanwhile, it’s all she can do, stare at him, his shirt sleeves rolled up, head bowed down to avoid her._ _

__“It’s a good dick though, right?” He finally mumbles, turning off the faucet, drying his hands. “Of the numerous dicks I’ve experienced, it’s certainly the most serviceable.” She teases kindly. She wants to touch him, but suspects it’s better if she doesn’t right now. “I’m going to get ready for bed. Thank you, Roman.”  
“Just call me Molly Maid,”  
“I mean for asking. You’re just going to have to trust me on this one.” He looks up at her with a look that could’ve gutted her, did gut her. “Sure, yeah. I always do.”_ _

__For the first time in a very long time, Gerri Kellman wishes she was younger, dumber. For the first time in a very long time, Gerri Kellman wishes she could’ve said yes._ _

__Instead of telling him this, instead of giving him an opening, a false sense of hope, she simply sighs and heads to their bedroom._ _

__Her bedroom._ _

__She unbuttons her blouse, muttering to herself when she spots the splash of soy sauce across the front from when Roman was waving his chopsticks in her direction, trying to get her to try something or another. He was always like this, at least with her, it seems. She pins up her hair and washes her face and brushes her teeth, going about her evening routine as if nothing is bothering her, which only serves to bother her more._ _

__She opens the drawers and begins searching around for her evening clothes. Sometimes she wears sets, very proper and very expected, but in the back of the drawer she still has some of Baird’s old sweatshirts and t-shirts and sometimes she wears them instead, only when she truly has to feel something. They’re so worn and washed she can’t tell what was once on them, just a few stubborn chips of white plastic flakes. She knows Roman knows about them. He found them looking for something to put on once he was cold. Instead, she handed him one of the cashmere cardigan wraps he was always making fun of and closed the drawer. He wore it, if she remembers correctly - just slipped it on over his shirt and continued to putter around. She hasn’t seen it since._ _

__She’s too old for this behaviour, too tired to be dealing with the ever shifting moods of the Boy Prince. Let him find a playmate his own age, she lets herself think as she pulls a on a worn pair of Baird’s sweats, and what may have been an old law school t-shirt._ _

__But he hasn’t yet._ _

__Hasn’t even left, she realises as she walks out to the living room, seeing him still splayed on the couch, staring at his phone as some murder procedural plays on mute on the muted television. “I’m going to bed.” She says from behind him, her voice softer than her feelings. No, that’s not exactly true. She has soft feelings towards Roman, tender and fragile. She also has harder feelings, sharp and thorny and too complicated for this late on a Thursday night. She also has slippery feelings that slide and shift based on the position of the stars or something. She doesn’t know. “Good night.” He answers, half turning his head over his shoulder. He can’t not look at her, it’s like not looking at the sun, or the traffic accident on the other side of the road. But he also can’t bring himself to look directly at her, at like, her eyes or her mouth._ _

__Not now anyways._ _

__“Good night.” She repeats, dropping a light hand on his head, letting her nails drag across his scalp for a moment. He tilts his head back, and she grins down at him, both knowing she’s won. What she’s won is uncertain, but she’s won. “Fuck off, go to bed.” He complains, pissed to have lost, but happy to her smile at him. To see her. Fuck, he hates this. Hates how fucking dumb he is, like a dumb fucking baby, every time he sees her. Like a puppy. Hates that she can ignore it, she can ignore him when he can’t even imagine it._ _

__She wants to ask if he’s coming to bed, but knows she can’t. He’ll come to bed when he’s ready, if he’s ready. She sighs in his general direction and releases her grasp on his hair and heads back to her room._ _

__Their room._ _

__Neither of them mention the red ring box tossed onto the coffee table.  
_ _

* * *

__  
It’s the lights going out that rouse him. The click of the switch and suddenly the darkness seemed less bright. He’s half asleep and at a weird angle when he feels her settle down beside him on the couch. He doesn’t open his eyes when he feels her lean her head on him, only wraps an arm around her shoulder. Awake enough to wish he could always do that, asleep enough that his hands don’t wander, his dick stays put. Eventually his eyes open, he yawns. The television is playing some hundred year old movie, and the sky outside is not quite dawn, not quite night. Everything is in-between right now, including them. “Explain to me why is this so important to you?” She asks, nudging the Cartier box with her toe, which is painted pink, because of course. “Fuck Gerri - I just woke up.” She stretches across him and reaches for the remote. She doesn’t mention her sweater beside him. It seems so much of being with Roman is not saying anything, but maybe that’s just her? She likes to think that she’s teaching him silence, how to not be afraid of it, how to use it, but it may be something else. Who knows with him?_ _

__She raises the volume on the television and begins to watch intently - she vaguely remembers this one, watching it as a child, on her grandmother’s massive wooden box of a television set. “Have you tried turning up the volume on your hearing aid?”  
“No, I took the batteries out for my vibrator after you didn’t come to bed last night.”  
“What the fuck is this anyways?”  
“Some Cary Grant movie.”  
“She seems awfully young for him,” He smirks.  
“Don’t worry, he leaves her.”  
“Oh, _he_ leaves _her_. I see. Trying to let me down easy? Is it Frank? No, wait, is it my _DAD_?”  
“No, it’s Marcia, we can’t help ourselves, we’re overcome with passion and we’re running away together.”  
“She could do worse.”  
“And me?”  
“You’ve done worse.”  
“Don’t say that.” She elbows him.  
“I was talking about me,”  
“I know. It’s my job to fucking insult you until you come in a corner, with your weasel dick in your hand. If you start doing it too, then what good will I be to you?”  
“I don’t know, let’s fuck around and get married and find out?”  
“Rome,” She sighs. “Why? Can you tell me that much? Do you know?”  
“No, Gerri, I think it’s perfectly clear that I don’t.”  
“So then why won’t you let it go?”  
“Because I can’t. I don’t know. I mean, I’ve seen nothing but fucking failed and miserable marriages my whole life. I shouldn’t want to do it, and I don’t, except I wanna do it with you? I have fucked up everything except you, being with you, and I want to keep it going. I want to keep not fucking up with you.”  
“We can do that, and not get married.”  
“I want to tell people. I don’t give a fuck, I want to tell them. And then I remember you don’t want me to so I don’t. But like, I want to give you a ring, and you give me a ring, and suddenly we’re in our own fucking club, you know? Just you and me, against the world. Out of everyone in the world you could pick, it’s fucking me.”  
“Roman,-”  
“You know what, also?” He interrupts, getting angry, sitting up so that Gerri has to move off him, “You keep talking about me leaving you, but in my whole life, I’ve never met someone like you, so fuck this _‘Roman’s gonna find someone young and hot, because he’s an absolute stud machine with a monster dick’_ thing but I think we all know you’re the one who’d like, die, or leave me for someone who’s not a total fucking screw up in a heartbeat so _yeah_.”  
“Haven’t left yet,” She shrugs and yawns, pulling the blanket from the back of the couch over her shoulders. “Dying’s another matter.”  
“Just like a lawyer, always looking for that fucking loophole. Fucking soulless.”  
“Says a fucking Roy,” She scoffs, smiling across at him. “Roman, I love Baird, I always will.”  
“And I’m just someone you fucking insult, I get it. Like, he was a storybook husband and I’m a fuck up Roy boy pile of slime and shit.”  
“Christ, will you shut up, you petulant little worm,” God, she’s regretting where this is going already, “I will always love him, do you understand this? He’s the father of my kids, and he and I had an entire life, a good life for the most part, that you will never understand. You couldn’t.”  
“Did you want to nail my dick to that wall while you’re at it?”  
“I will if you don’t let me finish. Who I was with him is gone though. I’m not the same woman anymore and I don’t think he’d be the same man.”  
“Yeah, cause he’s fucking dead, Gerri.”  
“Are you done? Can I continue?” He sighs and slouches back against the arm of the couch, “If my _dead husband_ were to walk in that door right now, I don’t think he’d recognise me anymore. The same way your family doesn’t recognise you anymore - they still see you like the waste of genetic material and vital organs you are - but I see you, I see you changing and trying and succeeding. And sometimes it feels like you see me. Sometimes it even feels like you may even _love_ me?”  
“Yeah, about that… I’ve never not hated someone as much as I don’t hate you, you know? I just want sit beside you, like, always, and eat together, and drink together and talk shit about people, and then have you talk shit about _me_ , and then like, occasionally fuck around or something. Forever.”  
“Forever?” She smirks, and his confused self gets even more confused.  
“Or, I don’t know, til you die.”  
“Why do I have to die first, you twitchy little maggot?”  
“So I can inherit your millions and fuck off to an island filled with models forever?”  
“Joke’s on you, I'm leaving everything to Greenpeace and PETA.” They both hold a straight face for a beat and then begin laughing.  
“Fucking imagine?”  
“I don’t hate you either Roman. In fact, it pains me to say it, but I also enjoy spending time with you. Except when you fucking get soy sauce on my blouse.”  
“I’m sorry, do we not pay you enough to fucking wash your clothes?” He nudges her leg with his foot.  
“No, give me a raise.”  
“I’ll give you a raise…” He wiggles his eyebrows towards her while thrusting his hips up, “Get it, get it? My dick is the raise.”  
“Show me.” She nods towards the box on the table.  
“Really?” He sits up, nervous suddenly. They’ve never gotten this far.  
“Yeah, show me. Convince me.”  
“So like, I have a shot?”  
“Slim to none,” She yawns again, “But I’ve seen you do more with worse. Come on, I don’t have all day.”  
“Oh, so,” He leans over and snatches the box up, before handing it to her, “I asked for the classiest thing they had.” He shrugs, “Personally, I wanted to get you the biggest fucking rock they had, but it uh, didn’t seem very ‘Gerri’.”_ _

__He watches, his leg bouncing, as she opens the box.  
_ _

* * *

__  
Karolina eyes the building her car pulled her up to. “Would you like for me to wait?” The driver asks, noting her confusion in the mirror.  
“If you would.” She flips over the to calendar on her phone and the address. _ _

___5:20 am - Pick Up from Home  
5:45 am - 141 Worth St, New York (Lower Manhattan) __ _

__This is it. Her assistant asked her last night about the late meeting request coming from Gerri’s office, but Karolina just approved it, hadn’t asked too many questions. She regrets that now as she exits the car and heads towards the only other person she sees - Gerri’s assistant. “Good morning,” She greets the underling, drawing a complete and utter blank on their name, “Good morning, Karolina,” She responds, handing her a cup of coffee from a carrier tray. “Marcy asked me to pick up your order for you.”  
“Do you know why we’re here?” Karolina asks, taking a sip from the offered cup.  
“I don’t.”  
“But you’re here?”  
“Gerri sent out the invites last night on her own. Wouldn't say more…” The door opens and one of the other assistants, the nervous young man, from the Executive floor greets them. Karolina dismisses her driver with a nod and enters the New York County Clerk’s building._ _

__A slight security guard with the other assistant ushers them through the metal detector and flips through their bags. Karolina notes Gerri’s travel case being trailed by her assistant. “Who got locked up?” She asks, “And for what?” The silence fills Karolina with dread. What the fuck is happening here? They wordlessly climb up the stairs, no one asking why they aren’t using the elevators, and he leads them to a women’s washroom on the second floor. “She’s in there.”  
“Both of us?” Gerri’s assistant asks.  
“I guess?” He shrugs at her. Assistants bother Karolina. Even her own._ _

__Together the two women walk in._ _

__“What the fuck are we doing here Gerri?” She asks, watching as the other woman, dressed for work spread her make up over the cracked porcelain. “Good morning Karolina.”  
“Good Morning.” The assistant murmurs, setting the other woman’s cup of coffee on the ledge under the scratched mirror, hangs a travel case over the edge of the stall door, starts opening the duffle.  
“Morning Teresa. Can you pl-” She sees her assistant is already working on the tasks at hand, “Thank you.”  
“Gerri. What is happening? How long before the news breaks?”  
“Not for a while, I hope, but that’s what you’re here for, the just in case.” The light on the flat iron turns green and she quickly runs it through her hair, touching it up. “Teresa, do you have a mirror or something? I can’t see shit.” A small mirror is procured and handed to Karolina to hold as the assistant putters around, unzipping the travel case and taking out an ivory shift dress. _ _

__Fuck._ _

__“Are you getting married?”  
“Would that be so surprising?”  
“Then why all the cloak and dagger?” She asks, watching the other woman put down flat iron and begin to remove her blouse, slip out of her skirt, and hand it to her assistant.  
“No cloak and dagger.” She shrugs, “Was just hoping to beat the rush.”  
“Please tell me you lie better than that on the stand?”  
“We’re all still employed aren’t we? Hand me the dress.”  
“Who is it?” Karolina asks, helping her colleague into the dress, fastening it from the back. She sees a growing smirk on the assistant’s face and calls out, “You know?”  
“How would I know?” She answers, hanging up Gerri’s previous attire before digging out matching pumps for the dress.  
“She’s a worse liar than you are.”  
“Teresa, please work on your lying.” Gerri tosses out, enjoying winding up Karolina. It helps distract her from what she’s about to do.  
“On it.”_ _

__A knock at the door and the other assistant goes to answer it. A brief exchange between them while Karolina has one with Gerri. “Logan’s still married, right? You didn’t engineer his divorce and then-”  
“Absolutely not. Mirror.” She asks again, putting on another coat of mascara.  
“Kendall?” Gerri shakes her head no. “Connor? Fred? Frank? John? Jerome?” She’s naming names now, all them men who work on the top floors.  
“Mirror.” She reminds, holding out a hand to steady the small hand mirror before she applies her lipstick.  
“They’re ready when you are.” Teresa informs, packing up the loose odds and ends, the make up, the previous shoes, and packs them all back up.  
“Well I guess it’s time.” Gerri mutters nervously before leading them out of the bathroom and into the hall._ _

__“This way.” The other assistant guides, down the hall towards the end where the private office of Judge Susan Pike can be found._ _

__“Susan, thank you. Honestly,” Gerri greets the older woman, slipping into her black robes. “I can’t thank you enough.”  
“How could I resist having Gerri Kellman owe me a favour?”  
“Many favours. I’d like to introduce our witnesses, Karolina Novotney. Peter Bakshi. Teresa Torres.” A nod in each person’s direction.  
“Lovely to meet you all, and so early in the day.”  
“Says the woman who used to wake me up at six every morning in the dorms?” Gerri remarks with a straight face.  
“Do we have a groom?” The judge asks, “And the licence?”  
“He’s just coming down the hall,” Peter shares, his head hanging out the door watching. “And the forms are on your desk.”  
“The suspense is killing me,” Karolina murmurs, flipping through the emails coming through on her phone, making sure word hasn’t gotten out before she even knows what’s happening.  
“Let’s fucking do this.” Roman announces loudly as he bounds into the room, handing a box to Gerri’s assistant.  
“The next poet laureate,” Gerri greets him. “It’s usually tradition for the bride to make the entrance.”  
“Does the little woman want a do over?”  
“Never call me the little woman again.” She states.  
“ _Roman_? You’re marrying Roman _Roy_?” Karolina exclaims.  
“Yes, Karolina, very observant,” Roman confirms, “Gerri and I getting married. Teresa (don’t look at me like that, yes I know your name), Peter, thanks for joining us so early instead of doing whatever the fuck you both do in your lives when you’re not following us around.”  
“Are you both kidding me?” Karolina asks, still stunned. “A joke of some kind?”  
“Yes, an elaborate fucking joke. Gerri and I spent months plotting out this entire thing to fool you. Good job everyone, pack it up, time to go home.” _ _

__No one misses Gerri reaching out a hand on his arm and how it seems to deflate him, sooth him._ _

__“Are we ready to begin?” The judge asks, amused by this show before her.  
“Please.” Gerri agrees.  
“Yeah, um, Teresa, the box.” Roman points, and she opens it and the heady scent of flowers fills the office as she lifts out a small and lush bundle. “Flowers and shit.”  
“Flowers and shit.” Gerri echoes as Teresa hands her the bouquet - cream coloured and simple - and takes her phone from her. She doesn’t bury her nose into the flowers like she wants to. But she does catch his eye, smiles at him, a silent thanks at his thoughtfulness.  
“Let’s fucking do this then.” The judge begins, echoing Roman’s greeting. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m Judge Susan Pike officiating this wedding ceremony between Gerri Kellman and Roman Roy. Let us take a moment…”_ _

__Roman can’t help but fidget. It's here. He’s doing it. _They’re_ doing it. Gerri said yes and he did the rest. Well him and Peter. But whatever, they’re here and they’re getting married and then that’s it. Whatever else happens, fuck everyone else. He’s going to be Mr. Gerri Roy, or whatever she wants to fucking call them. He casts an excited smile at her standing beside him, which she returns with a wink. Gerri, for her part, is oddly calm. For three days after that morning on the couch she had weighted the pros and cons of his proposal, played out every conceivable scenario and mapped out contingency plans for all of them - she ran through them in an endless loop until she felt confidant enough in her decision, confidant in _him_ and in _them_ to say yes. So here they are, Wednesday morning at God knows what time getting married. Whatever was going to happen to them was going to happen, and if she trusted anyone to have her back, anyone to go through it all with, it was Roman. _ _

__“Roman, please repeat after me. I, Roman Roy take Geraldine Kellman-”  
“I will murder every one of you if you that ever leaves this office,” Gerri threatens witnesses calmly without breaking eye contact with Roman.  
“Take Geraldine Kellman to be my partner in life, my wife.” Susan continues, ignoring the bride’s comments with an ease that suggests decades of familiarity.  
“I, Roman Roy take _Geraldine_ Kellman to be my partner in life, my wife. My sexy filing cabinet with brains by NASA.”  
“Remember my previous comment.” Gerri cheerfully threatens once more, rolling her eyes.  
“Gerri, same please.”  
“I, Geraldine Kellman take Roman Roy to be my partner in life, my husband.”_ _

__The witnesses exchange looks, confused by what they’re actually watching. When they realised that they’d be attending the wedding of Gerri and Roman, they assumed it was for some nefarious legal manoeuvrings but watching them, winking and joking and smiling at each other, it dawns on them that this may be real. Gerri and Roman are a _real_ couple, getting married for _real_ and no one would ever believe them if they were to tell them this._ _

__“A ring is the symbol of unending love, a circle with no beginning and no end. As you look at these rings, I hope that you be reminded of these commitments you’ve made in front of these … People.”_ _

__A chuckle from the witnesses, but when Gerri turns to look, they all have straight and stony faces._ _

__“Roman, please place the ring on Gerri’s finger and repeat after me: With this ring, a symbol of our love, I choose you to be my partner today and forever more. Our lives will be joined from this moment on.”  
“One sec,” Roman fumbles around for the ring, which he knows for sure he had, because he checked it thirteen times between hopping out of the car and making it upstairs. He finally digs it out of his pocket in the little red Cartier pouch. “You all thought I fucked that up, didn’t you?” He laughs nervously. “Geraldine-”  
“I will push you off the jet the next time we’re on it. Or the yacht. I’m not picky - anywhere with international waters will do nicely.” She warns.  
“Geraldine, you’re distracting me…” He quirks his face at her, a look only she can read, a look that can make her blush under most circumstances. “With this ring, it’s you and me.” He wipes his hand on his pant leg before he takes her hand his and slips the ring on. “Does that work?” He asks the Judge.  
“Close enough.” She shrugs, “Gerri?”  
“It works for me.”  
“No, I meant your turn.”  
“Right,” The mood in the room lightens. “Roman, with this ring, it’s you and me.” She repeats. She can’t help but smile, because this is absurd, all of this, and yet, it’s what it is. It’s what they are. She slips his ring onto his finger and watches as he holds it up, looks at it with wonder and amusement.  
“Roman and Gerri, Gerri and Roman, you have committed yourselves to each other in marriage by exchanging vows in front of witnesses, so by the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss your spouse.”  
“Very progressive.” Roman teases before stepping close to Gerri. “Well, in front of all these people?”  
“In front of all these people.” She agrees, before he places a sweet and chaste kiss on her lips. The witnesses clap softly as Gerri blushes, uncomfortable at being the centre of attention like this. “I hate you the least out of everyone I know,” He murmurs into her ear.  
“And you’re my favourite little limp dicked waste of humanity.” She responds behind her bouquet.  
“My, what odd terms of endearments,” Susan exclaims quietly before raising her voice. “Before you go, we do need to sign the licence and I’ll have my clerk file it after lunch, less chance of someone seeing it.” Susan says, handing them a pen and pointing out the appropriate places to sign and initial. “It’s official! May I introduce, for the very first time, the Mr & Mrs. Kellerman-Roy”_ _

__More cheering from the assistants, and a very confused Karolina, who still refuses to believe what she’s witnessed._ _

__“Hey Pete, can you get a few pictures?” Roman asks, tossing his phone from his pocket to his assistant. Teresa stands beside him and takes a few with Gerri’s phone just in case (it’s well known amongst the admins that Peter’s notorious for his bad angles and poor lighting choices, a quick glance at his tindr profile revealed that)._ _

__And then it’s over. Just like that._ _

__It’s not even 6:30 am yet, and they’re married. The assistants gather their bags and together they all move down the hall towards the stairs with the execs trailing behind them. “Do you want me to leak it?” Karolina asks casually, flipping through her phone, pretending not to see Roman holding his wife’s hand.  
“Absolutely not.”  
“What if it gets out? You’re both going to show up with wedding bands, people will talk, they’ll dig it out.”  
“Roman has a flight to Shanghai in an hour, so that should buy us a week.” Gerri explains, “After that we don’t say anything - if they suspect, they suspect.”  
“Events? I assume you’ll be attending together?”  
“So long as she’s not too embarrassed by me, yeah.”  
“Stop it,” She warns.  
“And Logan?”_ _

__Even the assistants, always listening freeze._ _

__“What about him?” Roman asks, “We don’t deny it.”  
“He’s going to lose his mind.” Karolina says calmly.  
“Nothing we can do about that.” Roman shrugs.  
“Whatever you say.” Karolina agrees, catching Gerri’s eye._ _

__They reach the bottom of the stairwell and wait a moment as the assistants go check on the cars. “This is nice,” Roman says, running a finger down the side of Gerri’s wedding shift, “You weren’t wearing this this morning, were you?”  
“I figured if we’re doing this, we should do it right. Like those ‘flowers and shit’.”  
“Yeah, you like that? I know you said it didn’t matter, but fuck it, let’s do it right, you know?”  
“That was very sweet.”  
“Yeah well, let’s just hope _Karolina_ doesn’t spill the beans about your thoughtful, handsome, sweet husband.”  
“Oh, no one would believe me.” She answers, pretending to look at her phone, the odd one out._ _

__The doors open, and Teresa enters, “The cars are here. I’ve put your change of clothes in yours Gerri.”  
“Karolina’s gonna get to further with you than I will on my own wedding day.”  
“Mind out of the gutter.”  
“I’ll call you?” He deflects, leaning his forehead to hers in lieu of a good bye kiss.  
“If you must,” She quirks her mouth, “Yes. Go, beat traffic. Don’t miss wheels up.” They share a moment and then with a deep sigh, he pulls back.  
“Not married five minutes and Mrs. Roy’s already bossing me around,” He winks at Karolina, “If anything comes up on this, Gerri’s on point.”  
“Got it.” She nods.  
“Well, see ya!” And with a lazy wave he disappears out the doors. _ _

__“Well, shall we?” Karolina asks.  
“We should give it a minute or two,” Teresa comments “It’s starting to fill up out there.”  
“Already? Shouldn’t civil servants be busy slacking?”  
“You’d think.” Gerri responds, already lost in her emails. “Can I give you a ride to the office? I assume you have questions?”  
“I have my service coming by.”  
“Teresa and Peter will take it.”_ _

__And with that, they make their way to the two cars out front and split up._ _

__“Gerri.” Karolina begins once the door slams shut on them. “What was that?”  
“A wedding. Unzip me?”  
“Did he kill a hooker?” She asks, twisting to unzip the other woman’s dress.  
“He’s not Kendall.” She scoffs. “Besides, I always thought Shiv’d be the one to kill a hooker.”  
“I can see that.” Karolina agrees, “Dead behind the eyes.” She turns away as Gerri shimmies out of the dress, thankful for the slow speed of traffic this morning. “Did **you** kill a hooker?”  
“No, there’s no dead hookers involved in this.”  
“So there is a _this_?”  
“Yes, the 'this' is my marriage.” She slips into her blouse, her skirt, and sets herself straight. “How do I look?”  
“Like you absolutely did not get married this morning.”  
“Perfect.”  
“So you’re not going to tell me?”  
“There’s nothing to tell,” Gerri confesses, playing with the ring on her hand. Twisting it this way and that, impressed that it fit her. It feels odd having a ring back on, even though at this point, she’s spent more of her life with a wedding ring than without, “It just happened.”  
“Weddings don’t just happen. It’ll be easier to sell if one of you killed a hooker.”  
“You’re really fixated on that, aren’t you?”  
_ _

* * *

__  
Meanwhile in the other car:_ _

__“So, which one do you think killed the hooker?”  
“Gerri, definitely Gerri.”  
“No fucking doubt.” 

**Author's Note:**

> The Cary Grant movie in question is The Batchelor and the Bobby-Soxer, wherein Cary Grant has to ‘date’ a teenage Shirley Temple (!), but falls in love with her older sister, Myrna Loy. Weirdly, I had forgotten the plot and literally just plucked it out of his filmography, but it seems v appropriate as I type this out.
> 
> This is far from my best work. It may even be my worst, but like, here we are so, enjoy or whatever. I don’t even know why I wrote this, I don’t even believe in marriage, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Thanks for reading this far! Drop a comment and lmk what you think :)


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